


With Golden and Silver Light

by maarzanna



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Oneiromancy, Steampunk elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maarzanna/pseuds/maarzanna
Summary: Arthur's being plagued by nightmarish visions of his future, Morgana suggests Arthur to seek the professional advice of a Dreamer, giving him the card of Master Emrys. A man of great talent, who could be the answer to Arthur's terror filled nights.





	With Golden and Silver Light

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the poem _Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven_ by W. B. Yeats.
> 
> I listened to [Find You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66BkR217GcY) by Ruelle non-stop while writing this fic, it still turned out rather fluffy, lol.

Arthur eyes with distrust the small rectangle between his fingers, trying to deduce the reason Morgana has seen it fit to give him such a thing, at this hour in the night, like she couldn't wait. Morgana's standing, her shadow looming over him, ignoring his invitation to join him for a cup of tea. Her arms are crossed over her chest, a nervous air about her as her eyes roam every corner of his room. 

This, whatever she thinks it is, is serious for her. 

"Would you at least consider it, dear brother?" 

He quirks his left eyebrow, the way Morgana says _dear brother_ sounds a lot like idiot, to his ears. He’s at a loss. "Am I supposed to do something with this? Honestly, I thought we were done with the subject. You shouldn’t worry.” 

"Perhaps you are, but not me, and don't expect me to be anytime soon. I do worry.” She walks in circles in front of him, making him dizzy. “Everyone's whispering behind your back and you—"

"They are?" He's surprised, he wasn't aware of any gossip going around in the court. Sounds believable though. "And what do they say?"

Morgana heaves a sigh, drops as elegantly as she can on the armchair across from him, picking absentmindedly at the black lace of her dress, its expensive royal blue fabric makes it clear she's nobility to anyone who can see. Despite of his earlier objections, she's here to convince him to do something he's ambivalent about. Knowing her, she made a list of pros and cons in her head, and charged into his room, determined to get him on board with her plan.

"Just that you're losing your mind," she says looking straight at him, she never backs down. "And that Camelot could be in far better hands than yours."

"I'm sure uncle Agravaine is happy about this development," Arthur notes sourly. His uncle's scheming to take the throne for himself are not a secret. 

"As most of your detractors." 

Arthur reads the card again, it’s crumpled from folding and unfolding it out of a nervous habit.

**Master Emrys  
Professional Dreamer. Dream Catcher. Enchanter.  
New Albion, Morpheus Road 1347**

His thumb presses against the dream rune on the centre of the card.

"You want me to venture into New Albion? Our family hasn't been quite forgiven for centuries of subjugation,” he says. “I’m sure magic users wouldn’t appreciate my presence.” Morgana should know better, and he should put his foot down. Say no, make it loud and clear so there's no doubt of where he stands. 

"I am well aware, but that was year and years ago, some have learned to forgive." 

"But have they forgotten? There is a difference.” 

Morgana purses her lips, looking just about ready to smack him on the head, in the same way she did when they were kids and he stole her herbology books and dumped them in the pond. "You truly are an obnoxious person, if we weren't blood related then I probably would've planned to overthrow you ages ago. As it is, I'm fond of you and I worry. Those nightmares you're having are anything but healthy." 

Morgana puts her palm up, effectively shushing him before words of protestation can make it out of his mouth. "I know how cryptic dreams can be, they're either chaos or harmony, but the ones you're suffering from go beyond what's considered normal. You are walking around like the living dead."

His brows knit together, lying to Morgana never works out in his favour, she has a knack for seeing straight through him, he can’t allege perfect health in her face. "They'll pass, Morgana," he says, with as much conviction as he can muster despite not feeling confident. 

"No, you won't get rid of them so easily. And you know it. We both do. Look at you, the dark circles around your eyes, their redness. You look awful, on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.” Morgan’s by the edge of her seat, her gaze dark when it settles on him. “You're not sleeping and if you're avoiding going to bed because your dreams are far worse than anything you could face awake, then I think it speaks volumes of what you're going through. Just try, Arthur."

She had spoken nothing, but the truth. He's constantly on edge, afraid of his own shadow. He dreams of dark places and disjointed voices, cavernous and cold. On some nights he sees Camelot burning, and he's unable to save it from its terrible fate. Others, he ends up drowning, body swallowed by freezing water. Dragged to the bottom by invisible hands until light fades away. 

"This is oneiromancy, Morg. We're talking about magic here. Even if magic is free in this day and age, I'm not sure I can trust its effectiveness." 

"Try. That's all I ask. Besides, this Emrys is a dream virtuoso from what I hear. He's quite peculiar."

Arthur gives the card one last peek before he tosses the scrunched up piece on the floor.

  
  


New Albion is located on the outskirts of Camelot. It's a haven for people with magical abilities, white walls and tall buildings towering towards the sky, like skinny arms trying to reach for the stars. He walks as fast as his legs will allow him, face down hidden from view. He's left the safety of his private compartment in the train and he's well aware of where he is. He tries to blend in, dodging passengers stepping off and into the station. He thanks the steam still rising from both sides of the train, partly obscuring him. The last thing he needs is unwanted attention.

He takes the card out from the pocket of his long coat, even though he's got Master Emry's address memorized. He adjusts his round black sunglasses on top of his nose, the metal around them has begun to warm up. Here goes nothing.

  
  


He knocks on the door, wood so old that rattles as much as loose change in one's pocket. The brass plate on it proclaims he has reached _La maison des rêves_ , and if this is the house of dreams, then Arthur isn't sure he wants to find out what's inside, it's too shabby to be anything spectacular. He pockets his sunglasses. Below the name, Arthur notices there are smaller letters that jump an rearrange themselves into a new sign, urging him to 'knock once if he needs help' and 'knock twice is he's passing by'. It doesn't make much sense. He lifts his fist, knocking once. He already came all the way here, might as well give this man an opportunity. The door opens instantly.

He's greeted by a tall, lanky man, a shock of dark hair framing his face. Eyes hidden behind a set of goggles. He's wearing a brown vest over a red shirt, black pants and high boots. Arthur notices he's been staring when the silence between them has stretched for longer than it is polite. 

"Uh," Arthur says, not sure of how this consultation thing is supposed to go. Where it begins.

The man—way younger than Arthur was expecting—extends his hand, a wild smile on his face. "Emrys. How may I help you?"

Arthur takes his hand and shakes it, coughing to cover the fact he's out of his depth. Put him in charge of the Round Table Men and he's a fierce leader, ask him to fly an airship and he excels. Magic is not his forte.

"I'm here because I need help."

"I gathered that from your knock. What seems to be the problem?"

"Um, it's sort of private."

"Would you like to come in?"

He steps inside and is momentarily blinded by a flash of color, when his eyes have adjusted to their new environment, and his ears can distinguish a low humming coming from somewhere in the back of the room, he realizes how wrong he was. This place is sort of awe-inspiring. With its flashes of colours here and there, like there's a rainbow trapped in one of the many bottles on the shelves lining the walls, among big books on mythical creatures, dream interpretation and old magic. There are brass and copper cogs on tables and some have fallen on the floor. A golden clockwork occupies the only place on a wall not already covered by books, scribbles or sketches of creatures Arthur doesn't think he could name, and plants and herbs hang from the ceiling. 

"So, my lord," Emrys says. Arthur turns around, mouth open in shock, almost asks how he knows who he is. Then again he's with magic folk, and Arthur is not nearly as inconspicuous as he'd like to believe. 

"Master Emrys," he says instead, preparing himself for a lengthy explanation.

"Call me, Merlin. We can leave titles and ranks behind, right? We're in a safe place," Merlin tells him, motioning around with one hand and removing his goggles with the other, revealing kind blue eyes. 

Arthur nods, wringing his hands. He shouldn't be so nervous. "I'm having these horrible nightmares, and I can't sleep because all I see is the end...of everything."

Merlin stares at him, his features an unreadable mask. "Maybe it'll be better if we sit down."

The clockwork marks six in the evening when Arthur finishes telling Merlin of the death and the decay, the fear refusing to let go of him. Of the void he's trapped in. Merlin refills his cup of tea, a mix of passionflower and linden, that effectively sooths Arthur. 

"From what I've heard, I conclude it's dream manipulation. You're a man with great power and I suspect there are people around you who'd like to take you out of the way," Merlin states pensively. Arthur snorts, no truer words have been spoken today. "By instilling panic and dread in you, and showing you bleak images of the future, they're manipulating you. Someone with enough knowledge of dream magic can make you do their bidding or end you. Fear is a powerful tool of control. It's lucky you came here before things went further. You cold be sleepwalking and— You're not? Are you?"

"No. What's the plan then?"

"I could walk in your dreams, expel the evil from the root, if we share dreams I could catch the poison tearing through the fabric of your subconscious. Flooding your dreams with darkness."

Arthur hesitates, taps a finger against his knee. Merlin's eyes are sincere and somehow, Arthur finds he's giving the tiniest of nods. He's saying yes. 

"Are you sure? This contract is binding." 

"Positive." 

"Excellent." Merlin jumps from his armchair, goes to a nearby table to rummage through the mess there. Arthur watches him taking vials, mixing them in a pewter cauldron. He pours the pale-pink concoction into an empty vial, shakes it till the contents turn a glowing shade. He drinks the potion in one go.

Merlin walks over to him saying, "Close your eyes." It's not a demand, but a request, and Arthur acquiesces. He's come for help, after all. He feels warm, chapped lips pressing against his, his eyes fly open and yes, Merlin is kissing him. Merlin's hands bracket his face, guiding him, Arthur tilts his, opens his mouth, Merlin's tongue sneaks inside. He tastes sweet, like sugar plums. It's a languid, unhurried kiss and Arthur melts into it. When they part, their breaths mix together, and a lilac vapor rises from the small gap between their lips. Arthur watches as it goes up to the roof, and images began to appear, float around, skulls and faceless strangers. Arthur's nightmares materialized in the dense mist. The smoke twists into a spiral, and becomes green butterflies. Arthur is amazed.

"Your dreams are now mine to carry too. I can walk with you. Trust me, we'll fight together," Merlin whispers, still so close, Arthur he can smell him, feel his warmth engulfing him, a strange sort of happiness settling in him. His presence is like a drizzle in the middle of summer. Welcomed and relieving. 

Arthur wants to trust him.

  
  


Camelot is in ruins.

Arthur stands between smoke and ashes, between broken-down buildings. High fires burn around him, scorching the world. The skies are tinted red, and every star has disappeared. The roar of the flames gets louder, someone screams in the distance. Arthur wants to run and get his people to safety, but he can’t, the ground beneath him has liquified, trapping him in a viscous black fluid that’s gone up to his knees. 

He can’t find his voice, he screams, asks the people to run from the trail destruction. His lungs burn, but no sound comes out. He’s sinking further down. It’s too late. He’s too late. Camelot has fallen. He’s failed. He closes his eyes, ready to meet his own fate. 

“I’ve got you.” 

Out of nowhere, someone holds onto him, a hand grabbing him by the arm, keeping him afloat. Arthur looks up. “Merlin,” he breathes. His voice comes out weak, strained, but it’s there. 

He smiles down at Arthur, radiant and real. “Fight, Arthur. Fight against the darkness.”

Arthur’s hand closes around Merlin’s arm, his eyes fall shut, breathes deeply, Merlin’s strength bleeds into him, his magic alive around them. He pushes against the dark surrounding him, kicks at it, the ground shakes, Merlin says something that he can’t make out, the fires fade. _It’s a dream, a dream,_ he thinks. 

When he opens his eyes he’s standing on firm ground, chest heaving, the clouds in his head dissipate. Merlin hasn’t let go. 

“I was sure you'd be able to break free,” he says, an enigmatic smile curves his lips. 

Camelot has returned to its previous glory, tall buildings shine under a gleaming sun. Arthur laughs. 

“Thank you, Merlin.” 

Merlin shakes his head, steps closer, his breath caresses the side of his face when he leans in to whisper, “Sleep.”

Arthur wakes up in the morning, feeling rested for the first time in months. The palace’s staff gives him odd looks when he goes down to have breakfast, whistling a tune. 

Morgana smiles knowingly. 

Arthur is not about to give her the satisfaction of recognizing she was right.

  
  


The next night his nightmares come back with a vengeance, this time, he’s drowning. Invisible hands pushed him into the freezing waters of a lake. Arthur sputters, despite his efforts he can't reach the shore, the turbulent current keeps dragging him back. His vision blurs, water gets in his mouth.

He tries to hold on remembering this isn't real. 

“It isn't.This is your battleground, choose what happens next. 

Merlin has appeared again, he’s facing Arthur, his chest pressed against his, arms looped around his waist. He's keeping them above water. 

Arthur's fears are momentarily eplaced by annoyance, Merlin keeps grinning, as if they're not facing a life or death situation. 

“Think happy thoughts,” he says. Arthur scrunches up his face in disbelief, slips a fraction down, Merlin tightens his grip on him. 

“A bit of help would be nice."

“Arthur, listen to me, think of a happy memory, focus on something positive. I’m serious. You need to fight the darkness.” 

The darkness, there it is again, that thing that swallows him whole. He thinks about the time Morgana and him went to the planetarium, and spent the night looking up at the stars full on wonderment. He looks at Merlin, his eyes are so bright, his face open in an encouraging expression. Arthur can feel every part where their bodies are touching. The water around them morphs into a tranquil flow. 

In a blink, they’re by the shore, lying on their backs, Arthur coughs invisible water, everything around him smells fresher. Merlin sits up, shakes his head like a dog, splashing drops of water everywhere. 

Arthur scrunches his nose when some of the drops land on his face. “That’s gross.”

Unperturbed, Merlin gets on his feet, and magically he’s dry, from head to toe. Arthur narrows his eyes, he shouldn’t be surprised, yet, he is. 

Merlin extends his hand, asks, “Do you want to go on a picnic?”

Arthur blinks, sure he’s heard wrong. “I’m sorry?” 

“A picnic,” Merlin says, winks so charmingly, Arthur is disarmed. “Come on, join me.”

Arthur takes his hand, their fingers touch, and—

They’re on a hill covered in bright, verdant grass, that reminds Arthur of Morgana’s jade dragon, yellow daffodils paint a yellow path. 

With a flick of his wrist, Merlin invokes a blanket. “This is a good spot, don’t you think?” 

Arthur nods. The wind is a soft caress on his face.

  
  


The fifth time Merlin walks in his dreams, he takes him on a hot air balloon ride, right after they vanquish a giant. Arthur feels stronger, the terror that once filled him is slowly dissolving. He looks down at Camelot. The metropolis looks even more beautiful from way up.

“How do you do it?”

Merlin tilts his head to the side, gives him one of those smiles which never fail to rile him up, because he’s treating Arthur like a simpleton. He might not be versed in magic, but he’s smart. 

Arthur scowls. “This is no way to treat your sovereign.” 

Merlin lets out a full bodied laugh, Arthur’s patience is being tested. 

“I don’t know what you mean, my lord,” Merlin says, mirth clear in his tone. 

“Are you ever going to answer my question?” 

Merlin runs a hand through his wild curls, stares at the sky, infinite before them. “Dreams can bend at your will, but you had been weakened, the magic poisoning your dreams was quiet, and strong. By letting me in, you gave me permission to help you turn your nightmares into regular dreams, into whatever you want them to be.”

“Thank you again, for helping me,” Arthur says, he covers Merlin’s hand with his own. Something seizes up in Arthur’s chest when Merlin turns his palm, and entwines their fingers, squeezing lightly. 

“Don’t thank me. There is a bigger threat out there, bigger than giants and fire. A beast hidden deep in your subconscious.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the ride.

  
  


His uncle Agravaine is bristling by the time the council meeting is adjourned. Arthur was reelected. He pushes past the members, giving Arthur a look of hate, so deep it raises goosebumps on his skin.

“Nevermind him.” Morgana says. “You were brilliant today.”

That night, his dreams are once again full of darkness, so bleak, he can find no way out. Arthur runs, and runs, only to return to the same spot. A growl makes him stop. His hands are shaking. 

“You aren’t real,” he says into the void. He thinks of stars, the sunsets over Camelot, Merlin’s smiles and his warmth. The beast leaps from the shadows, a half snake, half leopard abomination. "You aren't real, you can't get me!" 

Merlin jumps in front of him, a burst of white light appears from his hands. Arthur’s vision goes blurry, the world goes sideways, quakes under him, Merlin's eyes shine gold. 

There is blood-curling cry, an acrid smell invades his nose making him gag. Merlin's slain the beast. Its dead, serpentine eyes lock on Arthur. He falls to his knees, his body convulses, his heartbeat slows down. 

“Breathe, Arthur,” Merlin says, kneeling in front of him, holding him by the shoulders. “Breathe.” 

He tries to focus on Merlin, ignore the crushing headache. He shivers, the poison leaves Arthur's heart, his mind, his dreams. He falls forward, his whole weight crashing into Merlin. “I’ve got you.” 

Merlin kisses the top of his head. “It’s over. I knew you could do it. You’re safe.” 

Arthur is exhausted, he crawls into Merlin’s arms, buries his nose in his neck. Merlin’s fingers run up and down his spine. Arthur closes his eyes, sleep taking over him. The last thing he hears is Merlin’s voice. 

“Come find me outside your dreams."

  
  


In the morning light, Merlin looks different, homely, soft. His clothes are simple, he’s relaxed in his own environment, surrounded by ancient magic, his herbs and peculiar looking plants. He’s got those stupid goggles on though, and he’s mixing something orange, happily. He consults a book Arthur noticed was written in another language, from time to time. When he’s satisfied with the results he fills a vial, and leaves it by the window where the sunlight causes the liquid to turn bright red gradually.

Merlin joins him on the couch, their knees touch purposefully. Merlin’s body is a long line of heat against his. Arthur closes the book he was pretending to read, he isn’t that interested in abjuration anyway. 

“So, I’m here,” Arthur says, he wets his lips. His throat is dry. 

“So you are.” Merlin plays with one of the buttons on Arthur's vest, looks up at him through his lashes. “What can I do for you, my lord?"

Arthur drops his head back on the cushions, rolling his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Merlin chuckles. “Am I?” 

Whatever retort Arthur may have, is silenced by Merlin’s lips on his. Arthur opens his mouth without hesitation, his hand goes to the back of Merlin’s neck, while Merlin’s palm settles on his chest. Right above his beating heart. They kiss with no rush, getting acquainted. Enjoying the heat, savouring the moment. Somehow, they end up sprawled on the couch, trading slow kisses. 

“Is this another business transaction?” Arthur asks breathless. 

The smile Merlin gives him is dazzling. "No, this is a real kiss." 

Arthur bumps their noses together, nips at Merlin’s mouth, reveling in the way he shudders above him. This reality, is better than any dream he could have.


End file.
